Every fall, a new class of first-years arrives at the University determined to make an entrance. Some years it’s tame: The senior class once required first-years to wear black-and-red caps and laid out strict rules about where the first-years could and couldn’t walk (hint: not on grass).
Other years have seen firecrackers rattling across Foss Hill, inches of water flooding Clark Hall, and hundreds of students storming the president’s house at midnight. The Middletown Police have been called, riots have ensued, and first-years have emerged victorious. The Argus has covered it all, and this week, the Argives editors are starting the year by revisiting some of our favorite chapters in the long history of the first-year fracas.
In 1945, the first-year rules were clear. On July 13, The Argus published an unaccredited article entitled “Traditions Upheld; Large Freshman Class Evades Senior Walk,” which outlined several rules for first-year students to uphold.
“Black and red caps will be worn by all new ‘frosh,’” The Argus listed. “No ‘frosh’ will use the guttered walk in front of South College at any time for any purpose. No ‘frosh’ will walk on the south side walk in front of College Street at any time. No ‘frosh’ will sit on or loiter near the steps of Fisk Hall at any time. No ‘frosh’ will walk on the grass on campus at any time.”
Upperclassmen defined first-years’ identities by where the class could and could not go. By 1958, it was marked by how loud they could be, as noted in “Foss Hill Rock n’ Roll Session Sets Off Student Demonstration,” an unaccredited article from The Argus published on May 16 of that year.
“Trouble started when about twenty music-lovers were evicted from Andrus Lounge by a nightwatchman who closed down the freshman lounge when they refused to lower the volume of a blaring hi-fi set,” The Argus reported.
The students regrouped, hauling their turntables onto the balconies of the Foss Hill dorms.
“This activity attracted a group of about 50 first-years, some of whom brought along firecrackers,” the paper continued. “Then the rumble really began. The group surged through the rest of the Foss Hill dorms banging on doors with calls to action.”
The march grew into something larger than anyone expected.
“There seemed to be no organized leadership or planned ideology,” The Argus observed, “but as the aroused frosh swept down the hill to pick up the rest of the class rooming in Clark Hall, chants of ‘Down with Apathy’ and ‘We Want Girls’ began to cause lights to flick on across the campus.”
Their chanting was soon complemented by an original musical score.
“The ever-increasing freshman forces, now backed by a smattering of upperclassmen, rolled on to begin a siege upon North and South College,” the article added. “The doors of South College were found to be open; the bells began to toll.”
Then came the moment no one forgot:
“Water and firecrackers poured from North College windows until the frolicking students, now numbering over 300, marched on President Butterfield’s home,” wrote The Argus. “The president greeted the demonstrators in his bathrobe.”
Minutes later, the Middletown Police Department arrived to find the campus alive with noise.
“The Middletown police, however, decided to ensure that quiet reigned and quickly fell to merciless but amusing bantering by the milling masses,” The Argus wrote.
Once properly dressed, former President Butterfield made a reappearance.
“A speeding Buick roadster suddenly roared onto the scene. It slammed to an abrupt stop and out jumped an aroused President Butterfield,” recalled The Argus. “The crowd, which had held firm in the face of the constant police pressure, broke ranks and fled for the hill before the Teddy Roosevelt-like charge of the President.”
Students recalled the night with pride.
“This was the most fun I’ve had since coming to Wesleyan,” one first-year beamed.
Another, still holding an unfinished (and likely soggy) assignment, shrugged: “I’ll just have to tell my prof I couldn’t finish the paper because I had to go to a riot.”
By the early 1960s, the water wars had relocated to Clark Hall. On October 2, 1962, The Argus published an unaccredited article entitled “Clark Hall Inundated As Classic Epithets Fly; New Class-Oriented Tradition Seen Developing,” documenting the annual antics.
“The ominous rumblings began about 10:30 p.m., as hoots and gobbles flung from the upper floors of Clark were met with blasts from record players and sirens,” The Argus described. “At ten to eleven, a cry of ‘freshmans are weenies’ in front of Clark was followed by a hasty retreat as approximately 75 freshmen began the siege of Clark.”
Dean of Students Mark Barlow stood in the thick of it, dry as ever.
“Each of these wastebaskets costs $1.84,” Barlow sighed, as water, soggy toilet paper, and foul screams filled the hallways.
Upperclassmen naturally gathered to watch.
“Upperclassmen massed on the library terrace and cheered the freshmen on as they charged up the north stairwell and booed as they retreated,” The Argus wrote. “One subject of special derision was a freshman who held the door as his classmates rushed in and out, patting each on the back.”
The battle ended with a victory march of equally epic proportions.
“Massing just outside the exit, the freshmen began their triumphant march back, chanting ‘Have fun—mop it up.’”
The following April, Dean Barlow understandably attempted to ban the annual riot. Then-News Editor Frederick L. Weber ’66 covered the effectiveness of the ban in “Freshmen Conduct Annual Riot; Wes Version Of Bay Of Pigs,” published on May 16, 1963.
“The dean had issued an ultimatum, ‘There shall be no riot,’ and aware of this, the freshmen decided a quiet riot would be best,” Weber reported.
Fifty students stormed down Foss Hill before deciding Clark Hall would be a more logical battleground.
“This is the finkiest freshman riot I’ve ever had the pleasure to attend,” an upperclassman commented from the sidelines.
Still, the first-years refused to retreat. While neither side came out with a clear victory, a small group of first-years managed to take Harriman Hall. The water damage completely blacked out the dorm, leaving the building and its residents well-drenched.
One first-year participant summed up the night with a mix of irony and pride: “This was Wesleyan’s version of the Bay of Pigs.”
From caps to firecrackers to buckets of water, the forms change, but the instinct stays the same: the University’s new students making noise, proving they’ve arrived. Hopefully, no fire alarms are needed.
“When the freshmen finally ended their riot and returned to Foss Hill, they were consoled by the fact that theirs was a mature approach to the annual freshman riot,” Weber wrote. “No policemen or firemen were forced to attend as was the result with last year’s less considerate freshman class.”
Hope Cognata can be reached at hnsmith@wesleyan.edu.
“From the Argives” is a column that explores The Argus’ archives (Argives) and any interesting, topical, poignant, or comical stories that have been published in the past. Given The Argus’ long history on campus and the ever-shifting viewpoints of its student body, the material, subject matter, and perspectives expressed in the archived article may be insensitive or outdated, and do not reflect the views of any current member of The Argus. If you have any questions about the original article or its publication, please contact Head Archivists Hope Cognata at hnsmith@wesleyan.edu and Lara Anlar at lanlar@wesleyan.edu.
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